I'd Be Under the Sea, But You Hold Me Above
by Lichaelle
Summary: As Arthur and Eames await their execution in the ship's hull, Eames reflects on what Arthur means to him. A pirate AU, and a rather sad one at that.


Eames reaches out in the darkness of the ship's hull. He tries to touch Arthur's face, but their chains aren't long enough. "We deserved so much better than we had, Love."

Arthur sighs. "We both knew it was going to end up this way."

And Eames had known. He'd known, objectively at least, on the night it had begun, that it would come to this. The ship had captured a French merchant vessel, and Eames had returned after the fight with adrenaline in his veins and bottles of fine champagne in his hands. They'd celebrated together, gotten drunk on stolen jewels and pilfered French liquor, and Eames had kissed Arthur in the hallway before leading him back to his room. There, he'd lain above him and marveled at Arthur's smooth skin, worshiped his mouth, kissed him anywhere and everywhere until Arthur was whining his name and had forgotten his own. Eames knew then that he was in love, like he'd never been before and would never be again. It didn't matter that Arthur was a man. Arthur was his.

And Arthur had felt the same way, though he was more conscious of the inevitability of their trysts. "They'll kill you for this," he'd whispered late at night, his fingers trembling as they stroked Eames's brow.

And Eames had clasped them in his own and kissed every finger with reverence. "Arthur, darling," he had said. "I'd rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you."

So they'd both known objectively, yes. But it's one thing to believe in some intangible future death, and another to be faced with it, unblinking. Shackled to the wall of the brig, sentenced to die by his own captain, Eames finally understands this.

He used to boast that he was brave. After listening to Arthur's screams of pain from the other room, hearing his beloved cry and beg for them to stop, he knows he's not. Every please god, no strengthened his conviction. The whimpers Arthur made after he could no longer form words sealed it.

They'd left Eames alone for the most part, probably out of some misguided sense of mercy. After all, most of them had been his friends scant days ago. Arthur had only been a cabin boy. Eames kind of wants to laugh at it, though it would hurt his broken ribs too much. Anyone could fuck a cabin boy if they wanted to. Loving one was where they drew the line. Or perhaps their fate had been sealed when Eames had killed a man for raping Arthur. That was too far, they'd said. That was when they'd become monstrosities and sodomites that had to be put down.

Arthur lets out a hacking cough that Eames can tell with clinical detachment means blood in the lungs, and he's drawn back to the present. "Arthur," he says, because this is important, and he needs Arthur to hear it. "I still mean it. I'd rather die now then live without you."

Arthur makes an inarticulate noise. "Eames, they would still let you out if you asked them. Say I tricked you, say you're sorry, say whatever it takes!"

"I couldn't live without you, Love. It would be less than pointless."

"So you're going to make me watch you die, instead?"

Eames sighs and scoots himself close enough that he can kiss Arthur's brow gently. It's clumsy, but neither of them care. "You can go first."

It's all he can give Arthur in this moment, but Arthur understands. Dying is nowhere near as bad as watching the one you love die.

Arthur smiles back at him. "Thank you." It's tender and painful at the same time. Eames can tell Arthur wants to cry, but doesn't because he knows it would hurt Eames to see him sobbing and be helpless to soothe him. Eames kisses him again, knowing he could never love anyone as much as he loves Arthur in this moment.

They're both quiet as four other pirates enter and begin switching their shackles for weighted rope. They ignore the jeers and the taunts, although Arthur flinches when one calls Eames a filthy cocksucker and Eames's face goes ashen when another casually informs him what exactly they did to Arthur in the other room. They could fight; Eames has seen Arthur fight wonderfully, all sharp angles and precise fury, but what would be the point? It's two against the world, just like it's always been.

As they're lifted and shoved through the ship's corridors on the way to the deck, Eames gives Arthur a smile, trying for flippant and probably landing at desperate and sad. "I'll see you in hell, pet," he whispers.

Arthur, dear Arthur smiles back, doing flippant better than he ever could. "I don't care what anyone says, Eames. You're far too nice for hell."

Eames smirks, then winces when his lip splits open wider. "So, heaven, then?"

Arthur laughs softly. "God, no." His eyes dart back to Eames, and suddenly his composure slips and Eames can see it all, all the pain and terror at what they're being forced towards, all the agony at watching someone he loves die. "Eames," he says again, and his voice is urgent or low. "Neither heaven nor hell. Come back. Come back and find me."

Eames has never believed in anything but worms and dusty bones after death, but for Arthur, his Arthur, he's willing to try. "Of course, Love," he whispers. "As many lifetimes as it takes. I'll find you."

Arthur looks back at him and his face is bright. "Then I'm not afraid anymore," he says.

And despite the swollen eye and the broken nose, despite the caked blood and dirt and god knows what else caked across his skin, Eames can honestly say Arthur has never been so beautiful to him.

They're spat on and kicked and slapped as they pass the crew members lined up for the spectacle. One of the sailors calls Arthur a sodomite and the other calls Eames a whore. And then they're walking across the deck, and the captain is standing by the railing with a stormy expression on his face. Eames doesn't care about any of it. He has eyes only for Arthur.

Still, it takes three of them to hold him down as they pull Arthur, struggling, to the edge.

Eames closes his eyes and lets his heart and his mind go numb because no matter how strong Arthur thinks he is, he can't face this. Each second ticks by and the unearthly, horrible silence is agony. He hears a splash and his heart breaks.

And then it's his turn and he's falling, falling. The water is a shock but welcome, and even as he lets his mouth open and the water rushes in, his mind is fixed on Arthur. Everything is soft and fuzzy, and all he can do is repeat the words over and over inside his head, like a prayer before birth. _Arthur, Arthur_ and _I'm coming I'm coming_ and _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_.

* * *

"…And finally, our point man on this job is Arthur Levitt, an old friend of mine," Cobb announces.

Eames glances up from his dossier on the case, already immersed in the nuances of becoming someone else, and not really interested in the technicalities of who he's going to be working with.

Until he sees Arthur. The boy is gorgeous, but that's not the point. He looks over at Arthur and deep down, he feels a flicker of memory, like a dolphin rising out of the sea depths or a moth emerging from it's cocoon. It's there and then it's gone again, but Eames is left with an unshakable feeling that this man is somehow important. Vital, even.

After the team has exchanged ideas and plans, Eames saunters over to Arthur's desk. "Hello Darling," he says, not deterred by Arthur's glare. "I know this sounds odd, but have we met before?"

* * *

Thank you for reading, especially considering the amount of high-density angst this contains. Kudos for the prompt are directed to a lovely anon from the Inception fic meme, who requested an AU based on the lovely (and heartbreaking) song Gay Pirates, by Cosmo Jarvis. The title is also nicked from the song. If you've never heard it, go check it out; it's wonderful!

And just in case anyone actually reads this, I have to ask: I have a completely unrelated Arthur/Eames pirate AU about halfway done, sitting somewhere around 9,500 words. Is there any interest in such a thing?


End file.
